


Rocky Shore Sadness

by Prince_Zukos_Honor



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Don't Have to Know Canon, Doomsday AU, Everyone is probably ooc, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person Omniscient, Please Don't Kill Me, War, aka god is being snoopy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23815705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_Zukos_Honor/pseuds/Prince_Zukos_Honor
Summary: What happens when you mix optimism and certain doom?Heartbreak.Aka, Aziraphale regrets a choice regarding a certain demon. Aka, A vague AU if doomsday had occurred
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 14





	Rocky Shore Sadness

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you didn't see it in the tags, this fic does feature blood, violence, and angst. I'm not sure how extreme any of it of is since I'm sort of desensitized to it, so be careful ig.

The angel had been gazing at the water for 23 minutes. His waistcoat, previously a gleaming white, was splattered with blood and red dirt. His face, wrinkles formed around smiles, had fallen into a new sullen shape.

He was on one of those beaches that was rocky, and was most certainly dreadful to sit on in melancholy. But when nuclear bombs went off, this island was so isolated and so tiny that it survived. Still, the sky was filled with smoke, the boiling ocean grew nearer, and the chaos was only growing.

The angel picked up a pebble, and threw it into the ocean. Perhaps he was trying to skip it because his expression darkened when it plopped in with no preamble. 

Looking into this particular angel’s mind was interesting. Instead of praying to me in thanks and glory for finally starting the war, he was cursing me. Spitting my name in anger and despair, much like the humans did. This angel hadn’t fallen, yet his internal thoughts revealed he was a traitor. 

Interesting.

A leather wearing demon appeared often. A specific memory was repeating, though. The two were in one of the deserts, completely alone. The sky was filled with smoke, and in the memory the angel recalls feeling more and more hot from nuclear explosions surrounding them. The demon spoke the words, “Let’s go! The Earth has gone to absolute shite. We tried our best to save them, but this was always meant to happen.” The last sentence was said with a downturn of lips and bitter voice. “Alpha Centauri is our best shot.”

The angel, whose expression I couldn’t see at this moment (for it is from his perspective we remember this event) was silent. In his chest he felt guilt, rage, and everlasting hope. “No. We can still stop the war! We can still stop the Antichrist or convince our sides to stop! We can’t just abandon the people left alive.” 

The demon held a steely face. The kind with straight brows, lips turned down only at the edges, and his eyes, well, were covered by black lenses. He walked forward. In another reality he had been planning revenge for years and took this moment to murder him. In that timeline, the demons won, for balance is a delicate game. In another, the angel had his flaming sword stowed away, and used the moment of weakness to help his angel brethren. But this was here. And here, the demon walked forward with the sole purpose of kissing the angel until he was breathless.

He did exactly that, and the angel would typically have blushed profusely remembering such an event. But the next thing he said would kill any romantic buzz. “I’m not going with you.”

The demon, who was previously prepared to be rejected by the kiss only to be welcomed by it, put his guard down momentarily. His face had been looser, eyes (probably) softer. So, the mincing words made him flinch. “Fine.” Nearly instantly, his wings unfurled, and he zipped up. 

He looked down once, pausing. The angel gazed at his face, opened his wings, and flew the other direction. Endless hope for humans and otherworldly love fought each wingbeat they flew apart. The former won, if only because love was losing the more distance they flew apart.

I left his mind to find him still on the beach, only a moment after throwing the rock. He tried praying again, this time getting on his knees and putting his hands together. I didn’t answer his questions asking why, for I barely understood my own reasons. His hopelessness again turned into hate, though only some directed upward.

He stopped praying, but he stayed on his knees. His chest slowly rose and fell, but his body still shook with the drumbeats of the demons. In his ears he heard not the waves, but the shriek of angel’s voices. His own voice, pleading and small, vanished in the noise of it all. And the only thing he could do was hide as blood and fire and holy water flew around him. War was a collection of sound, all of it horrifying to face, especially alone in a hole, barely underground at all.

He had to fold up his wings to fit in the space, knees curled to his face to squeeze in. Every noise from above rumbled down, and several times a body would evaporate in front of his eyes. Luckily, he could see them, but they couldn’t see him at their high angle. He calls it lucky internally, without believing himself.

Finally, the battle moved a few miles down. It took the angel hours to gather the courage to emerge from his hiding place, and he flew for hours until he found this place.

The thing that disturbed him most, after peeling away the horror of the fight, was the look on their faces, the light and the dark side. The hate etched into their eyes would scar the Earth itself. The demon he befriended had never looked so cruel, not once. 

Then, he saw himself. Not literally, of course, but metaphorically. He saw that no one cared. No one wanted peace. Because in their hearts, both sides wanted to kill the other. Neither cared about the humans they had existed beside for thousands of years.

The angel, as had flown away from battle smelled burnt corpses and heard cries of those he loved more than himself. The overload on his senses ripped something essential from his chest, destroyed him more than hearing his own kind die.

He really was a traitor.

He even missed the human lights that polluted starlight. The small ones plugged into walls for children. The ones in stadiums as humans cheered frantically for their sports teams. Ones on cars to guide them home. The warm yellow ones in his own bookshop, now burned and nuked.

On the beach where he sat, though, he could only see smog. Where had the sun gone? Did it fall out of the sky? Would he ever feel the warmth of a summer day again? Would he ever see another sunset? 

He stopped praying completely. Only his circling thoughts entertained him for 9 minutes. Crowley, Traitor, Death, Sun, repeat.

The angel stood when water lapped at his knees. The pants were sliced from the rocks, though he didn’t look at that. He saw that his little island had become a mere 2 meters wide. He was on a ruined planet. War was fought between monsters all around him, and the previous noises he believed were in his mind turned out to be real, and growing louder. The echoing distorted their distance. The fighters could be hours or seconds from finding him. The sky darkened as night actually fell.

The angel looked up.

From his back emerged pristine white wings.

He crouched, feet getting wet as the last of the land vanished. His chest vibrated with drums. His ears rang from shrieking voices. 

He leapt.

The angel soared higher, into the smog that made the Earth look grey instead of blue. Tears may have been streaming out of his eyes, but his emotions were far from bleak. Rather, there were many complicated emotions he was processing, and only one that made sense to him right now was love.

Love for his demon.

He loved his music, his style, his jokes, his bravery, his stubbornness. He hated that the demon left him on Earth, even if the angel was the one at fault. He hated that he rejected the one person he had yearned after for a thousand years.

He broke over the atmosphere. Laws of gravity shifted around him, but his wings flew steady in space.

Even if the demon rejected him, he had to say sorry, to show him in his eyes that he regretted every bad thing he had ever done to him: Called him evil, told him they shouldn’t be friends, acted like he hated him behind his back, ended his perfect kiss.

The angel gazed at the stars around him, trying to find the course to Alpha Centauri. Then, in the corner of his eye, the darkness shifted too quickly. He turned, yearning to be even farther away from the demons or angels that were apparently guarding the outside of Earth.

They noticed him, and flew straight at him. The angel tensed, until he saw his yellow slitted eyes and the leather jacket.

He flew to him just as quickly, and the two clashed together. From a distance, one might see opponents closing in distance. Up close, the angel wondered how he forgot that Axe Cologne. The demon wondered how the angel knew exactly how to hold him.

A world burned below them. Immortal beings perished every moment. I still heard cries begging for life, humans yearning for mercy. I almost stopped it, then, but I feared the moment ahead might disappear. So, it continued.

Azirphale and Crowley embraced in the safety of the stars, the lines that divided them for centuries vanishing in the infinite night.

**Author's Note:**

> if i got anything in canon wrong sorry. I'm not gonna make any more Good Omens stuff anyway, so it doesn't matter tbh.


End file.
